Father?
by wolfshalom
Summary: While Moriarty's prisoner, Sherlock meets a teenage girl who becomes an integral part of his new case...but is he biting off more than he can chew? And what is her story? Why does she travel around London with a wolf pup and a five year old boy? Rated T to be safe. Will develop into Kid!Lock (before Reichenbach) Sherlock/John friendship
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It was a large room locked inside an even larger mansion. The furniture was rich in color and highly expensive. Colorful lights danced across the ceiling and classical music (Beethoven's Fifth) played softly from large silver speakers. Nefarious villains, all of whom were widely known for their cruelty and brutality, stalked coyly around him as they chatted idly to one another at Moriarty's feast.

And, of course, Moriarty had kidnapped Sherlock; why throw a party and show off your wealth and power if you didn't have a shiny new trophy, right? So, he—Sherlock—was: dressed up in an expensive jet black suit, with a pale purple undershirt, and his signature scarf.

But, at least he wasn't being physically tortured. Jim was torturing with boredom, sure, but nothing Sherlock, a wall, and a handgun would be unable to remedy…

**...**

He saw her near the staircase.

Everyone at the ball was cloaked in wealth and in their mid-thirties to late fifties. All were well fed and living comfortably in luxury, more than happy to allow others to take the risks and falls. Among Moriarty's companions were drug lords, serial killers, mobsters, gang leaders, and high profile thieves…but this kid?

She wasn't any of them.

_So, what was she doing here?_

She was gaunt and thin, her pale blue dress (probably loaned to her by Moriarty like Sherlock's suit) swallowing her frail frame. Her smoldering green eyes were narrowed in a melting pot of rage, defiance, terror, and loss as she issued a silent threat to any who dared look her way: _come near me, and you'll suddenly have extreme difficulty breathing._ Her hand curls tightly around a steak knife. Sherlock raises an eyebrow in silent curiosity and narrows his icy blue eyes at her.

Her back is against the cold stone wall and every muscle is coiled and ready to spring away from the danger that permeates the air, but where do you run, when every person near you poses a threat to your safety? Where do you hide in a glass cell? With all the cameras and thermal detectors Moriarty had no doubt put into this enormous mansion, running would be futile if not more deadly than their current dilemma.

This teenager was like him: a prisoner.

He walks towards her slowly and pauses a few feet away: not close enough to crowd or threaten her, but close enough to engage her in conversation.

"What is your name?"

Her glare turns on Sherlock and he smiles a little in amusement. He's gone toe-to-toe with serial killers; does she honesty believe that he'll cower away from a malnourished youth? Politely, he stands still while she analyzes him, her gaze sweeping up and down his thin frame before locking once again on his eyes, but not once does she speak or attempt to answer his question.

A pang of aggravation slices through him and he watches in surprise as she flinches at the movement.

With a deep inhale, he decides to try again: "Did he steal your voice?"

Burning green eyes instantly flick to Moriarty and then back to Sherlock. A single brisk nod of confirmation answers him back.

This hadn't been the first time he's seen this. Moriarty could do anything to anyone, or make them do anything.

All he needed was to get the proper incentive.

Like a hostage.

Or the perfect threat.

Moriarty was crafty and wise in the arts of darkness. He knew that you can cage the body, but the spirit would always rebel…but to cage the heart? Once you have the heart, you eliminate all hope or desire to escape, not when the apple of one's eye is in danger of severe harm or extermination. That must have been how he trapped her and inflicted silence upon this small girl. Sherlock frowns, his blue eyes hardening. But why?

**…**

Dinner.

Large, circular, dark mahogany tables are covered in blood-red satin cloths that gently caress the hard wooden floors. Off to the left, one the long rectangular tables with coal black table cloths covering them, were rich and exotic delicacies. Their intoxicating aroma quickly filled the air, making Sherlock, and the other guest, pour gently into the vast dining hall. Moriarty simply smiled with prideful pleasure to see the awed expressions on his companions' faces.

They get their food buffet style. In silence they eat their meal and pause ever so slightly between mouthfuls to savor the flavor. Waiters (or were they butlers…?) bustled frantically from round table to round table to refill glasses and quietly remove dirty dishes.

Moriarty sits to Sherlock's left and the girl to Sherlock's right. She eats quickly without looking at either of them and her body still holds stubbornly to the fearful tension that she displayed earlier.

Sherlock's eyebrows turn downward ever so slightly in confusion.

Moriarty was an important man who only bothered pestering important people…this girl was not important. She was obviously homeless and hadn't eaten well in weeks, as is evident in her emancipated frame. She was at least fourteen years of age…so, it was doubtful that she had had a job that would be considered important enough to hit on Jim's radar. By the way she was eating, he could deduce easily that she was not from a rich family but from a poorer one.

_So, what did she do to get into this mess?_

_Insult Jim?_

_No, he never would have let her live this long._

_Maybe she's related to someone important…?_

_No, again, she's homeless and starving._

_So what, then?_

Jim's brown eyes flashed coldly in cruel amusement. "Enjoying yourself, Sherlock?" His lips curl into a venomous smile that never reached his eyes. "I think you'll enjoy this little game. But I'll let you figure it all out." The smile vanishes and his turn to granite: cold and uncaring, "I'm sure it'll be clear in a week or so."

After the meal is finished, Jim requests that Sherlock play a piece or two on a violin set up in the middle of the room. Sherlock swallows slightly and rises to move.

"Wait, you don't want to forget your little drummer girl, do you?" With a cruel grin Jim pushes his hand against the small of the girls back and propels her forward. She stumbles and quickly regains her balance. Grating laughter from the murderous crowd assaults them from all sides as, together, they approach the instruments. Sherlock plays cautiously, suddenly unsure of what to do.

What is this was a test?

If she can't find the proper beat…they could both be executed—or worse.

But she has no problem keeping up with him. Slowly he speeds up and she goes with him. Together their notes blend together and swirl gracefully across the medium of air and dances across the room. People cheer delightfully and rock their bodies to the music that cascades electrically all around them. The side of Sherlock's mouth turns up into a small, crooked smirk, and, he realizes with a start, that this girl is smiling as well.

A strange warmth floods his chest as he watches the teen lose herself in the melody, her hands a chaotic blur of color and sound. And he joins her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The next day, Jim releases him. Sherlock groans and sits up slowly from the cold, wet pavement—it had rained previously—and rubs his head as the sedative Moriarty had given him slowly works its way out of his system. A siren roars loudly and he turns his pounding head slowly to blink in surprise at the sight of Lestrade driving towards him like a madman. The elderly detective slams on the brakes and leaps out of the vehicle.

"Sherlock! Where have you been? There's been a murder!" He grabs the skinny man by the elbow and helps him into the police cruiser.

"Gavin? How did you know I was here?"

"It'd _Greg_-and some woman just called and said you were passed out in front of her flat. Gave her a fright, you did." Greg glares at him for a moment. "So, you aren't back into the drugs, are you?"

"No." Sherlock answers coolly. "I was kidnapped by James Moriarty and have recently been set free."

"And why would he do that? Let you go, I mean. You're his only real competition…to let you out would be…unwise."

Sherlock nods. "I know."

"So, you see anything useful or interesting on your short holiday, did you?"

Sherlock thinks about the large and elaborate party Jim threw and about that strange girl. How she glared defiantly in the very face of death itself and did not cower. How she played effortlessly to his melody…it was almost as if she was reading his mind. But that was preposterous. She was homeless and most certainly physically abused, probably by a family member. She had to struggle to simply live, knowing that every breathe she took could just as easily be her last. But still, she was no one important. So why would Jim bother kidnapping her…?

"No." He says finally "There was nothing interesting."

**…**

The body Lestrade had told him about-it turned out-had nothing to do with Moriarty, which was an enormous disappointment to Sherlock. Either way, he solved in within minutes: the victim—an obese oriental man of about forty years of age—had been killed by his quiet and cat-loving next door neighbor. Sherlock sighs, his mind growling in frustration at the lingering headache and the simplistic case. John rushes is, panting heavily.

_He had run here. Why? Wouldn't a cab have been easier?_

"Sherlock!" He shouts, relief cascading down his face at seeing his friend alive and unharmed.

"John." Sherlock replied calmly.

"Where have you been?" Sherlock moves away from his friend and walks into the cool night air, hastily hailing a cab. John follows at his heels. "Sherlock!"

"I'll explain on the way, come on!"

**…**

It's dark. Brooding storm clouds above flash angrily with annoyance at the vehicle's bright white knife of light that cuts neatly through the opaque wall of black that the thunderheads are trying stubbornly to preserve. Missiles of rain explode on the windshield,and smoky fog drifts through the trees and out unto the room, obscuring Sherlock's vision as he drives.

"So, why?" John asks finally. They ridden in silence for house after Sherlock had told the doctor about what had transpired during his brief interlude from 221B. But, John still couldn't wrap his mind around what had happened or why some teenage girl had thrown Sherlock so off-kilter.

"Because we need her." Sherlock keeps his eyes on the road as he speaks, and pitches his voice low. "Moriarty is going to do something—something _soon_—and a lot of people will likely die, John. For whatever reason—and I don't know why—she is the key to figuring it all out. Moriarty wouldn't have had here there at that little get together otherwise."

"So, we'll just drive around aimlessly until we find her?"

"Yep."

"At night? During a storm?"

"A little rain _hardly_ counts as a storm, John. Don't be so melodramatic."

"Fine, it's not storming _yet_, then. Happy now, hm?" John says before rolling his eyes and shaking his head in exasperation.

_Sherlock goes missing for roughly twelve hours and instead of going to a hospital or the police after being kidnapped, he wants to find some _kid._ Wonderful,_ he thinks sarcastically, _this is just great._

Sherlock sighs in irritation at John's antics, but refuses to grace his hysterics with a response.

John decides to try again. He takes a deep breath and talks slowly, careful to extinguish any sign of anger: "What makes you think she's even still alive? Sherlock, seriously, this could be dead. She could have been Moriarty's next murder victim—or a trained assassin. You said so yourself, you don't know much about this girl. If Jim could fool you into thinking he was someone else when you first met him, what's to say she's not the same way? What's to say she isn't just some hired gun planted at that mansion to throw you off?"

"She's not." Sherlock shakes his head in dismissal. "She despised them, John. All of them. She hated them because they were immoral: because they were 'bad guys'. This girl couldn't be a killer or a criminal—she has a moral code and as for her being dead, well, she's fought too hard to survive up to this point; why would she go and throw her life away? Chances are, she found some way to escape."

Sherlock's hands tighten on the wheel as he pauses slightly before continuing: "There's something more here, John—something else—and I can't pinpoint it. Not yet, anyway."

Something darts across the road in front of them. Sherlock slams on the breaks and John tenses. Their car fishtails a little on the slick pavement. Lightning bursts overhead and drenches the area in purple.

The car narrowly avoids hitting the person and Sherlock fights wildly for control as they continue to swerve violently across the road. Gunshots explode around them and John realizes with sinking horror that the trees around them are peppered in bullet holes—rifle rounds to be exact. Another flash of movement and their black truck slams into a solid figure that flips up and over the top of the car from the violent impact.

"Sherlock!"

The car screeches to a halt and both men race out of the car.

"Is he okay?" Sherlock asks. "Is he breathing?"

John is silent for a moment. "No."

Sherlock turns to look at the person who had raced across the road first and is surprised to see three beings there instead of one: a small four year old boy, a gray wolf with a SERVICE DOG vest on, and the girl from Moriarty's mansion. With her left hand she clasps tightly to her right shoulder and it is only then that Sherlock can see the blood pooling from her fingers from a gun wound.

"Are you okay?" He asks her. She tilts her head slightly to the side in confusion and he moves forward quickly as he screams, "JOHN!"

John turns just in time to see the girl's knees buckle from underneath hear and Sherlock grab the soaking wet kid just before her head cracks into the hard asphalt.

"We need to get to her a hospital! NOW!"

**How'd you guys like it? Reviews are always welcome, and I love to read them. So, if you have anything you want write, I'll be happy to read it.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for taking FOREVER to add a new chapter. I've been a bit busy and have had a bad case of writer's block. Do not fear: I have returned victorious. Again, sorry.**

**Chapter 3**

The sharp, bitter bite of antiseptic. The soft rustle of fabric. Quiet voices. Soft footsteps.

"How long until she is awake?" A low baritone voice demands.

"I don't know—soon." A woman murmurs. The girl breathes evenly in and out. Sherlock walks over an puts his fingers against her wrist to take her pulse.

"I know you are awake." He whispers. "You do not have to be afraid." He watches her tense in surprise before slowly opening her eyes. It takes her a moment for her eyes to adjust and when they do, she studies Sherlock intently.

"You're lying." She says softly: her accent distinctively American…Midwestern…Kansas, maybe?

"I have no reason to lie—especially to _children_." Sherlock says briskly. "I have your discharge papers with me. You are to come to my apartment—221B Baker Street—and live with my friend, John, and I."

"And how did you manage that?" She inquires.

"It pays sometimes to be related to the British Government. Get up." He tosses a bundle of clothes at her. "It is time to leave. I have some questions for you to answer and no doubt, the police do as well."

"Whatever." She rolls her eyes.

**…**

Once she's dressed, Sherlock and John help her walk down the hallways and help her into a cab. She stares out the window, ignoring the pair of them until the vehicle rolls to a stop and she has to get out.

"Oh, hello dearie." Mrs. Hudson exclaims before dragging her into a hug. The girl stands as rigid as a statue until the kind old woman releases her and walks back into her kitchen. "Would you like a cuppa?" She calls after the retreating forms.

"A cup of what, exactly?" The girl murmurs and Sherlock grins slightly in amusement at her naiveté . _Americans!_

**…**

"Tell me about yourself." John says gently and he leans forward in his chair, a kind smile on his face. "Why were you in the road?"

"Why not? I was being shot at and a lunatic was trying to kill me—seems basic enough." She shrugs.

"Why was he trying to kill you?"

"I don't know—why don't we ask him?" She says sarcastically and Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"What is your name?"

"Batman, what's yours?"

Sherlock's eyes narrow. This is going nowhere. They could be here for week questioning her and she wouldn't give a single insignificant thing away.

"Why were you at Moriarty's party?" Sherlock tries again, his irritation rising.

"Has the word 'kidnapping' ever crossed your mind?"

"And why were you kidnapped?" If Moriarty doesn't kill her, Sherlock just might. John smiles and bites back a laugh. _It's about time Sherlock met someone about as stubborn as he was!_

"Got me: maybe it was my sparkling personality or my mad drumming skills, yo."

Sherlock sighs and runs a hand through his dark, curly locks. "You're not going to take this seriously, are you?"

"Nope."

He sighs again and John laughs before quickly covering it with a cough and clearing his throat. Icy blue eyes glare at him but John looks at Ze'eva innocently, carefully avoiding Sherlock's gaze. John hides his mouth behind his hand to cover up the smile infesting his face. Sherlock's glare gets colder.

"Where is your family?" Sherlock asks. "Are they in London?" The girl's sarcastic demeanor melts into that of sorrow, but it flickers across her features only for an instant before a neutral expression plasters itself onto her face.

"I don't know." She says with a shrug. "You the detective: why don't you figure it out?"

**…**

She sleeps on the couch, a large red quilt thrown over her. The young boy from the road sleeps quietly in John's easy chair, his thumb buried securely in his mouth. The wolf is curled up on the floor and watches Sherlock with suspicious golden eyes, the hair on its back bristling in warning.

…

"John," Sherlock burst into John's bedroom and sits on the foot of the smaller man's bed. John yawns ad rubs his eyes.

"Christ, Sherlock! What time is it?"

"Five o'clock in the morning—but that isn't important. Look, this girl means something to Moriarty—he wouldn't have bothered kidnapping her otherwise." He staples his hands together under his chin and closes his eyes as he thinks.

"Five o'clock? This couldn't wait until morning?"

"No." Sherlock says distractedly, his eyes still closed in thought.

"You couldn't do this out there? Go into your mind mansion in the living room."

"No." Sherlock says suddenly, his eyes popping open as he looks at his friend incredulously, "That would be incredibly rude—they're trying to sleep, John."

John groans and rubs his temples. One of these days, he's going to get a full night's sleep. Today is not that day.

"And it's a mind _palace."_ Sherlock corrects before closing his eyes again.

"So, what do you think, then? Why is she so important to Moriarty?" John asks.

"I don't know, but I think it'd be a good idea to start with her family. I'll call Mycroft in tomorrow to see if he can pull some strings to get me some information on her. That should shed light on a few things."

"And in the meantime? What are we going to do with her?"

"Keep her here; what else?"

"You hate children." John informs him patiently as he tries to blink the sleep from his tired brown eyes.

"I do. I find them to be both intellectual dull as well as uninteresting. They're noisy, and irritating, and get into everything."

John raises an eyebrow at him. "But…you want them to stay here?"

"Of course. Moriarty will come to get her back and we'll have him right where we want him!" Sherlock jumps to his feet. "I'm going to call Mycroft, and do try to get some sleep. It's not good to stay up so late, John." Sherlock walks out of John's room and hurries towards his own bedroom and John contemplates strangling the man.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Hello, brother mine." Mycroft says into his phone. "And what could I help with you now?"

"I need some information on someone."

"Send me their name and I'll have my people look into it."

"I don't have her name, but I do, however, have a picture of them." Sherlock says and Mycroft groans inwardly. This will be considerably more difficult.

"And why, pray tell, are you so interested in this particular individual, Sherlock?"

"They're going to help me take down Moriarty."

Mycroft is quiet for a moment as he digests Sherlock's words. "I'll get my men on it immediately."

**…**

The girl looks around the room quietly; she and the small boy were sitting together on the floor, their wolf curled into a ball in front of them. Humming quietly under her breath, Mrs. Hudson bustles about as she cleans the flat.

"So, what's your name, dearie?" Mrs. Hudson asks.

She's quiet for a moment, her eyes wide and scared. "Lila." She says softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"And that's a beautiful name." The elderly woman smiles at her gently. "Are your parents around here?"

"No ma'am." She says softly and a torrent of sadness washes over her. "They are not."

"Well, I'm sure everything is alright." She puts a gentle wrinkled hand on Lila's shoulder. "Sherlock will put everything in order." She walks away and pauses in the doorway. "If you need anything, just give me a call—okay, dearies?" They nod and she smiles at them both.

"Okay, are you ready?" Lila turns to the boy.

"Ready for what?"

"To get out of here. The faster we escape, the faster we can find them."

"But why? I thought they were helping us."

"They're just slowing us down. The police will be here soon and they'll be asking to many questions—ones we can't answer. If we do…then they won't live, Acke. You know this."

He hangs in his head, "But I'm tired of living on the street, Lila. I want to go home."

"I know." She says softly. "But we can't ever go home."

**…**

"So? Does he have anything useful that you could use?" John asks Sherlock and he shakes his head. They're sitting in a coffee shop with John's laptop between them.

"No." Sherlock groans. "So far, it's like she doesn't even exist."

"So, what do we do now, Sherlock?"

The detective sighs. "Let's go back to the flat, eat lunch, and go from there." He shrugs. "Unless you have any better ideas, John."

"Nope, let's go."

**…**

"Mrs. Hudson? Have you seen the children?" John calls down the stairs.

"They should be up in your flat, dear. They may be playing a game of some sort." She yells back. The two men search the flat again and sigh. There was no sign of either of them.

"Blast it! They're gone!" Sherlock says finally.

"Where do you think they would have gone? A homeless shelter, maybe?"

"No," Sherlock says. "It's too obvious. She's too intelligent to have gone to a homeless shelter…she could be anywhere for all he knew. He groans and runs his hand through his hair. This was becoming extremely tedious. The lanky man pauses for a moment and thinks.

"John, rent us a car. Mrs. Hudson! Would you mind keeping an eye out for them in case they come back?"

"Of, course, dear. No worries, I'll watch the door like a hawk."

"What are you doing, Sherlock? Who are you calling?"

"The car, John." Sherlock reminds firmly. "Hello, Lestrade. Listen: there's been an incident at 221B. The girl is gone. Please, do get your least irritating officers to help find her." He hangs up. "Is the car here yet?" He inquires and John rolls his eyes.

"Christ, Sherlock! You couldn't keep track of those kids for a single bloody day?!" Lestrade sighs and shakes his head. "Fine. But when we find her, I need to ask her some questions—immediately."

**…**

The sun shines brightly overhead, long fingers of light gentle caress the towers of London as they speed towards the countryside. Sherlock drives quickly, their speed just over the maximum speed limit.

"Sherlock? Where are we going?"

"She doesn't like Moriarty and Moriarty is after her. In theory, she'd be where we find her the other day. She may be trying to find her way back to Moriarty's mansion."

"And you plan on following her there, don't you?"

"He needs to be stopped, John."

"So, you would allow a child to put themselves in harm's way just so that you could catch him? A _child_, Sherlock?"

"No but I would gladly put Moriarty where he belongs: behind bars."

Sherlock's phone rings and he sighs. "Wonderful." He mutters.

"What? Who is it?"

"My brother." He answers. "Hello, brother mine. How's the diet?"

"Fine, Sherlock." Mycroft sighs in irritation. "I have some more information on your…little 'friend'. I'm emailing to John's phone now." He hangs up.

"John, Mycroft is sending you an email. When you receive it, we're switching places."

"Anything else you need today?" John says sarcastically. "Would you like a cup of tea while you're at it?"

"Seeing as how we're no longer in the city and are now in the countryside, it is highly unlikely that we will be able to purchase any tea, John."

John groans. He's going to kill Sherlock one of these days.

**…**

"So, where to now?" Acke asks and Lila shrugs.

"North. We'll spend the night at the docks, I guess."

"Can we catch a fish for dinner?"

"Yeah! We better!" They laugh and Lila pets her wolf. His golden eyes glitter happy at the affection and his tail whips side to side with happiness. "How's fish sound to you, huh? He barks and wriggles happily.

"He's silly!" Acke laughs and Lila smiles at him.

"Totally." She agrees. "Come on, the faster we get there, the better." She gives a small mischievous smile, "Last one there is a rotten egg!" She breaks into a run and Acke trails after her.

"You're cheating! You didn't say 'go'!"

**…**

SEVERAL HOURS LATER

"She's not here." John complains.

"To be fair, she was on foot and we were driving."

"Let's go home." John puts the car in gear. "She's bound to show up eventually; all we're doing is wasting time. So, any useful information?"

"There was a sting of murders in America and everytime they had a confirmed death, cameras picked her up as being in the area. Her name is Lila Reid and her entire family vanished roughly five years ago."

"What? You're joking." John says, shaking his head. "That's crazy—she's just a kid!"

"I don't think she committed the crime but something is definitely going on. We need to find her. If we don't find them soon, we may not find them alive."


	5. Chapter 5

**Reviews are always welcome. :)**

**Chapter 5**

The fire belches smoke into the air. The girl cooks a fish for their small trio and Acke yawns tiredly, his eyes going droopy as he curls into a ball and watches her cook.

"Remember when we had a house?" Acke asks. "And mom would cook our dinner. And tuck us in. And she sang when she was happy and took us to parks. Do you remember?"

"Yeah." She says softly.

"Do you think we'll ever get home? Do you think it'll ever get better?"

"Of, course it will." She hands him a piece of fish and they eat their meager meal and give their scraps to their wolf pup, Zevi. "One day, everything will be okay. We'll have a house and food every day. We'll have a fireplace and go to school." She yawns and the wolf pup burrows into her side.

"And we'll see mommy again?" Acke asks, his blue eyes sad.

"Definitely." She lies. Mommy was gone and chances were, they'd never see her again.

**…**

Sherlock paces the flat angrily.

"Blast it!" He yells furiously.

"Relax, Sherlock. I'm sure they're fine."

"'Fine'? Who cares if they're 'fine'! How am I supposed to lure Moriarty here without bait? How am I supposed to figure out what he has planned if the only person who could possibly know anything about it has run away, John? I don't need her to be 'fine'; I need her to be here!"

"She'll turn up." John says gently. "She's used to living on the streets right? And she knows we're here. She's bound to get into a little trouble and, when she does, chances are, she'll come back."

Sherlock nods at his friend's logic. "I hope you're right, John."

John yawns, "Well, I'll be in my room if you need me. Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Is it? Is it a good night, John?"

Sherlock waves him away and turns to stare out the window at the darkened streets below. She had to come back. She just had to. Something interesting finally comes up to distract him from his boredom and it abandons him the first chance it gets. He sighs. How could something be so intriguing yet infuriating all at the same time?

**…**

"Tell me a story." Acke whispers quietly. "Tell about me about mom, and London, and the man, and the stars!"

"Well, a long time ago, mom went to London on vacation." She smiles at the memory of their mom telling them about her adventure. "She was lost and scared in the streets of London and wandered around for hours before finally crashing into a man."

"And he had dark curly hair and eyes the color of the ocean." Acke adds. "His skin was the color of porcelain and he was very smart."

"Smarter than anybody." She agrees. "It was dark, and cold, and snowing. She had been trying to get back to her hotel but she couldn't recognize where she was in the dim lighting. Sad and scared, she sat on a bench in the park and started to cry."

"And then he came." Acke smiled.

"Right you are." She smiles back and pinches his nose playfully. "He walked up and she gave him a funny look because he was covered in dirt and smiling. 'What are you doing' she had asked. And he said…"

"'I'm working the case'."

"That's right. And she had smiled back at him. They talked for a while about his case and stared up at the stars, which danced overhead. He invited her back to his flat: she had his bedroom and he took the couch. The next day, he made her breakfast and took her out to eat. And then he showed her back to her flat after making her promise to meet him again that day for dinner. They did; they met again the next day and the next. They hung out for two whole weeks before she went back home."

"Do you think she missed him?" He asked.

"Of course she did." The girl, Lila, ruffles his hair. "Because she managed to come back ten years later and they saw each other all over again and picked up where they left off and he gave her this necklace." She tugs on the small silver chain around her throat to reveal the ice blue, heart-shaped locket at the end of it. "For years they wrote letters back and forth."

"Do you think he's still around here?" Acke asks. "Do you think we'll see him?"

"I don't know. Get some sleep." Lila says and Acke yawns again.

"Can we go back to live with those people tomorrow? It's cold out here." He complains drowsily and Lila shrugs, knowing that he can't see her since his eyes are closed.

"I don't know." She whispers and she didn't. She didn't trust them or think it was very safe…but winter was coming and it would be hard to stay healthy if they were fighting starvation and freezing to death. But he's already asleep and too far gone to hear her.

**…**

The next morning she stands shakily and wakes up Acke.

"Come on." She tugs on his sleeve and their wolf, Zevi, trots happily beside the two.

"Where are going?" Acke yawns and rubs his eyes tiredly. "Are we getting food?" He asks.

"We're going back to that place with the men…I may have misjudged them." She says. In short, she didn't trust them, but they may be able to help her out. After all, she was way in over her depth and it would be good to let someone else make a few hard decisions every once in a while. Besides, he was that detective everyone had been talking about back in the States, right? Who knew, maybe he could actually help them.

And if not, they had managed to escape once. It shouldn't be that difficult a feat to accomplish again, right?

"Yes!" Acke cheers. "Woo!" He jumps happily. "Do you think they have eggs we can eat? Or toast? Do you think they'll be happy to see? Wait! What if they know the London Man? The one from mom's story?!"

Lila laughs. "It's just a story, Acke. Come on. The last one there is a rotten egg!" She takes off at a run the Acke races after her.

"You're cheating!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Please review :)**

**Chapter 6**

She knocks hesitantly on the door and Mrs. Hudson opens it, her face smiling widely with joy.

"Sherlock! You've got visitors!" She calls happily up the stars.

"If they aren't serial killers, show them out!" He snaps back.

"It's been a bad day for him." She tells the children softly. "Come on; let's get you dears something to eat. Do you like eggs?"

"Yes!" Acke whispers loudly. "We love eggs!"

The kindly old woman ruffles the small boy's hair and smiles kindly at him. "Good," She says softly. "I've also got some fresh muffins, and oatmeal."

"Is it okay if I go upstairs and talk to them real quick first?" Lila asks sheepishly. "Please?"

"Of course, dearie. Don't be long." She yells at Lila's fleeing form as the girl races up the stairs. "Now," Mrs. Hudson turns to Acke, "Let's see about getting you and your dog something to eat, shall we?"

**…**

Lila stands uneasily in the doorway. Sherlock paces irritably across the length of their living room and doesn't seem to notice the nervous teen. John is frowning down at his laptop and looks up for a moment and catches the girl's eye. He smiles gently.

"It's okay," He urges motioning her to come inside. "You can come in if you want. Here," He stands and grabs a chair from the kitchen, "Take a seat."

"I need your help." She says when she walk in and nearly crashes into Sherlock. He freezes and narrows his eyes at her.

"And why would we help you?" He asks coldly and John glares at his friend.

"Sherlock!" He snaps and Sherlock shoots a hard look at his friend. John rolls his eyes and turns back to Lila. "And just what do you need our help with?"

To both of their surprise, she takes her necklace, with previously had been tucked underneath her shirt, off and dangles it in front of her.

"I need to find two people: the owners of the necklace and the man who gave it to her."

**…**

Sherlock blinks in surprise and it feels as if ice water is running down his spine. It's a little hard to breathe as if the air has been replaced with lead. He knew that necklace…but that was impossible! It can't be…can it?

But it is.

After all these years that simple piece of jewelry has come back to haunt him.

**…**

"Can you help me? I mean, you are that detective dude, right? The one that solves all this crazy cases and stuff?"

Sherlock nods numbly. "I am." His voice gives no indication of the feelings battling in his chest.

"And just what are these people to you?"

"My parents. My mother owns the necklace and my father gave it to her."

**…**

_Father?!_ He was a father?

_No! That was impossible! She had never told him that she even had children let alone that he was part of their genetic make-up! This can't be happening!_

_But it was._

**…**

"Tell us what happened," John offers with a shrug to Sherlock…who remains silent, his face completely blank and unreadable. "Hello…? Sherlock, are you with us?"

Sherlock blinks suddenly and jolts back to reality, "Sorry, what?"

"She was going to tell us what had happened, Sherlock." John explains carefully. Irritation pricks the doctor's chest but he keeps a smile plastered to his face to keep the girl at ease while he glares daggers at his friend as if to say _'if you don't sit down, shut up, and listen, I will brutally murder you'_.

Sherlock sits in his chair and steeples his fingers under his chin.

"Proceed." He says emotionlessly even though internally his heart is racing like a rabbit being chased by a feral and rabid wolf.

**…**

"Last year," She says slowly.

Quietly.

Sadly.

She continues: "My mom went missing." She swallows back a lump in her throat; it doesn't go down. "For many weeks before she was abducted, we had received many threatening phone calls and letters."

Sherlock's ears perk up. Threats? Who would threaten that girl's mom? If her mother was who he thought she was, she was no one important in the grand scheme of things. She had been an author and a photographer…but she wasn't world famous nor did she write about or deal with politics. This is very peculiar indeed.

"A black truck would follow my school bus when it was taking me to and from school and park outside my school or house for hours before driving off. Strange men would walk to the door in the middle of the night and start pounding on the door; their other hand always in their pockets as if it was wrapped around a gun…mom never answered. One time, one of the men even tried to take me from my school…it was scary."

John nods at her to go on and she does. By now she is staring at her feet, the flame Sherlock had once seen in her burning green eyes had all but been distinguished by the horrid memories he knew she was reliving. She shudders slightly and he can see tears form in her eyes. But still she speaks.

"And then she was gone—it was crazy. There was broken glass and gunshots. I grabbed my brother, Acke, and run outside. My mom screamed at us to run and the men screamed at each other to catch us or kill us. We barely got away."

"And then what happened?" Sherlock inquires curiously.

"I had my cell phone and, even though we never paid the bill for it, it never ran out. For a while we just walked to different cities…and then the texts started coming."

"You never asked for help or went to the police?" John frowns.

The girl shakes her head at him, "No. Then they'd find us for sure and get us."

The men nodded; that sounded reasonable.

"And what was the significance of these 'texts,' Lila?" Sherlock asks.

And then she told them about how the text messages would send her to different murder sight and she'd have to figure out what had happened. For a while, she had refused. Every time that she chose not to play along, ten more people were killed—just for her. Eventually, she had been brought to England via plane (the tickets already paid for) and were left on the streets of London. And then she had been kidnapped in the middle of the night and dragged to Moriarty's mansion where she had met Sherlock.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_"__What's wrong with you? Why is your face doing that? Are you…crying?"_

_The woman looks up at him before quickly looking away and shaking her head: "No." She says stubbornly. He narrows his eyes a little at her peculiar accent: she was an American, probably a tourist on vacation._

Strange, what is doing out here all alone? _Sherlock wonders._ And at night? That's not a wise decision, even for a tourist.

_"__Yes, you are." He replies with an impatient sigh; he really should be going home right about now...but he can't being him self to abandon the strange woman to an uncertain fate. Sherlock looks around carefully: she is definitely alone. "Do you have anywhere to stay?" He inquires._

_"__I'm lost, actually." She admits sheepishly, running a hand through her long, straight, black hair._

_"__Why don't you come back with me to my flat," He offers and she gives him a funny look as if he had just suggested they do something incredibly inappropriate. Oh...wait a minute. Oops. "You can take my room and me the sofa." He says quickly to amend his previous statement and shrugs in an effort to appear nonchalant, "Take it or leave it; it's better than sleeping on a park bench."_

_"__And that's it? No catch?" She asks suspiciously. "And in the morning I'd just go back to my hotel like nothing happened?"_

_"__I certainly hope not," Sherlock says coolly and she glares at him. "I was hoping we'd get a spot of tea and perhaps breakfast of some sort, but if you don't want to, then yes. You could share my flat for the night and then leave in the morning—however, there is no 'catch' other than getting you out of a possibly dangerous situation." _

_And by the looks of it, her hotel was probably miles away. It would be unlikely to catch a cab at this time of night and Sherlock didn't necessarily enjoy the thought of her walking there alone in the dark nor was staying here a very safe option for her. It was only logical to offer her a place to stay, after all. _

_He ignored the warmth building up in his chest and swallows it down stubbornly. _

No,_ he _wasn't_ attracted to her. _

_He was _merely_ giving her a place to stay; that was _all.

_Nothing more._

_She thinks for a moment, her green eyes burning with a bright fire that screamed intelligent. "That sounds permissible, thank you."_

_They talk for a while after and Sherlock tentatively sits down next to her. Together they look up at the black sky and gaze at the dancing stars above. A warm breeze caresses the two as they stand slowly and walk hand-in-hand down the streets…but he wasn't holding her hand because he liked her—he was merely keeping her close for her own safety. _

_He didn't get attached or show sentiment: that was for the losing side._

_But why then he did feel this weird feeling and what was this warm liquid ecstasy that flooded his system and made him unable to stop smiling? If he wasn't in love then what was it? Maybe he was getting sick. Yes, that was must be it. Molly had come down with a cold earlier that week-he must have caught it from her..._

_Because he was Sherlock Holmes, for crying out loud! _

_He couldn't fall in _love!

_"__My name is Sherlock, by the way." He squeezes her hand and she gives him a radiant smile that lights him up from the inside out before squeezing his hand back. He swallows again. What was wrong with him? What was he doing walking this woman back to his flat? He should call Lestrade and let him deal with it...but he couldn't. Something was holding him back._

_"__I'm Aurora, and I am an author; what about you? What do you do, Mr. Holmes?" She gives him another smile, this one even brighter than the last (if that were even possible)._

_"__I'm a consulting detective: only one in the world, really." He smiles back and she slips a piece of paper into his pocket: he would later find that it contained her personal cell phone number( __It would take him three days after she left London and went back to the States before he'd work up the nerve to call her)._

_They met again the next day at a coffee shop after he helped her find her hotel. She told him about a book she was writing about the psychological profile of multiple criminal masterminds and their vast differences from normal people, and he told her about a case that he was working: a particularly nasty murder. Unlike most, she didn't flinch away or give him a look of utter disgust or revulsion. _

_She listened politely with her eyes shining brightly as he spoke._

_And he loved her._

_Even if he would never admit it._

**…**

He puts the memories neatly back into a strongbox and slams the door quickly and locks it behind him as he jerks out of his mind palace. It had been years since he had thought about that particular woman.

She had given him her number and after she had left they would talk to each other every day. Until, one day, the calls had suddenly stopped. Dejected and heartbroken, he had locked all memories of her in the farthest and most remote region of his mind: in a sense, erasing her entirely from his active memory and it had laid dormant for years…until just recently breaking free and assaulting him all over again. Try as he might, it kept escaping from the strongbox to rip open old scars.

Now it's like all he can do is think of her. It seems that no matter how far he tries to run away from the subject or how deep he tries to bury it in his mind palace, it keeps jumping back out at him, screaming for attention like an unruly child.

It leers at him and snarls: a beast ready to attack and rip out his heart.

That is, if Aurora herself hadn't done that already.

And she had in the most cruel and brutal way.

She had forgotten him…

Which is something he could never do to her.

No matter how much he wanted to—it was impossible.

**…**

_Are the children mine?_ He wonders for the thousandth time. The timeline would be about right and she had returned to London roughly long enough for her to get pregnant a second time and the length of time it would have taken her to have the first child and raise it seemed to match as well.

But why would she not tell him?

This had to be a mistake of some kind. Or a coincidence.

But she had Aurora's green eyes and that same smile. She had Sherlock's long, curly, dark hair and their combined fierce intelligence. She had their pale skin and Sherlock's stubbornness. The boy was the spitting image of his mother and had Sherlock's bright blue eyes and smile. And it couldn't be a coincidence that they were here.

But no.

The idea is simply preposterous.

Insane.

Impossible!

**…**

Hard brown eyes stare gleefully at the flat. It was all coming together now. Soon, soon the fun would begin and Moriarty would be able to have a new distraction to entertain him from the common boredom of ordinary life. He smiles crookedly, but all in good time, of course.

After all, if you wanted something done correctly, you shouldn't rush it.

Time was of the essence.

But he couldn't wait to Sherlock's face when it all finally clicked together and he realized…Moriarty sighs in impatience. _Would he be furious, shocked, or heartbroken_, Moriarty wonders dimly. _And what would the children do? Would they scream in fear or stand there like statues as the horror slowly sank in? But, in hindsight, Sherlock really should have expected something like this to happen one day._

_After all, he had promised to burn out his heart._

_And he was nothing if not true to his word._

He gives a small snakelike smile and slowly drives away putting mile after mile between him and 221B. Let them enjoy their few moments of peace and of quiet. Soon enough, he would have his fun and get to watch them squirm as they struggled to keep up.

Oh, how he truly loved this part: the thrill of the hunt, the blood pumping through his veins, just him against the rest of the world…

**…**

Sherlock inhales sharply and runs a hand through his hand. He pulls his phone out and sighs. He's going to need help. With deft fingers, he punches the numbers in and waits impatiently. The person on the other line picks up.

"Hello, brother mine. I need your help…" Sherlock says quietly as to not wake John or the children.


	8. Chapter 8

**So, the truth is to be revealed soon: are they or aren't they Sherlock's offspring?**

**Chapter 8 **

"You need to hold still; don't fidget, Lila," The nurse says warningly with a huge needle held lightly in her delicate long fingers. The girl glares defiantly at the nurse as if to say 'make me,' but she stay silent, her lips pressed into a firm line. Her brother, Acke, sits next to her and watches the two with wide eyes.

"Do I need to have shots, too? Because I don't feel sick. I had a cold a few weeks ago but now I'm all better. Can I not have the shots?" He asks.

"Afraid you still need them, my friend, but _don't _worry," The nurse assures the small boy while she prepares to stick Lila with the needle. "It won't hurt." Acke doesn't believe her. Lila mouths the word 'run' to Acke when the nurse isn't looking and Sherlock smirks to the two.

"Don't worry; everything will be fine." He says calmly. The kids look at him but neither seems to trust his word. He sighs. "It'll be over soon enough."

"Sherlock," Sherlock turns and scowls at the man who had spoken.

"Hello, brother mine. How's the diet?"

Mycroft glares at him. "Perhaps we could continue this conversation in private?" He looks meaningfully at Lila. Sherlock sulks into the hallway and the door closes behind him, leaving Lila and the nurse alone.

**…**

"Are you sure she could be your daughter and he your son?" Mycroft asks as he raises an inquisitive eyebrow. "About of a shot in the dark isn't it?"

"It's possible." Sherlock shrugs. "The time line is about right."

Mycroft sighs. "I will try to keep the news of this DNA test it out of the press, but what are you going to do if these children _are_ yours? You are certainly not to best candidate to raise children, Sherlock with your past of being 'on the sauce' nor are you very…_paternal_."

Sherlock narrows his eyes: "Let's just wait to see what the results say first." Sherlock suggests. "They may not even _be_ my children, Mycroft. If that is the case, then we have nothing to worry about, _brother mine." _

But some remote part of him that he would never reveal to Mycroft wished that they were his kids, but where was their mother? If she had been kidnapped it was unlikely she was still alive. Why didn't she call him when the threats first started to come? They could have stayed in flat, Sherlock wouldn't have minded, and he was sure that John wouldn't have cared either, for that matter.

"If you say so, Sherlock. So, what happens to them when this case of yours ends, hm? Do we just ship them back to America?"

"They would go back to America? Just like that?"

"Of course, _what else_ would we do with them?" Mycroft says disdainfully, "They are American citizens as is their mother, Aurora Lee. _Technically_, we should not even allow them to have stayed this long, seeing that they_ are_ here illegally."

**…**

"Why are they drawing our blood?" Lila asks when the men walk inside.

"Because," Mycroft gives her a forced smile. "We need to make sure you and your brother do not get ill. There are diseases here in England that you do not have over in America."

"I don't feel sick." She narrows her eyes.

"Yet. It is simply a precaution."

"If my mom was here, she'd tell you exactly where you could stick your 'precaution'." Mycroft raises an eyebrow at her but says nothing. Lila groans, "And _after _we get our blood drawn, can we leave?"

"After you get your blood drawn _and_ receive the proper vaccinations, you will be free to leave with Sherlock and John," Mycroft says stiffly and Lila groans again.

"Sounds _tedious._" She frowns and her green eyes blaze furiously, and in that moment, she looks like a carbon copy of Sherlock. Mycroft blinks and it's gone.

Did he imagine it? The resemblance was uncanny…but he was sure he had imagined it. He must have. Right?

**…**

They wait back in the flat. Mycroft sits in a chair and Sherlock paces restlessly around the flat (John had taken the children to the police station to answer some basic questions from Lestrade).

"Relax. They'll call soon enough." The moment the words leave Mycroft's mouth the phone rings. Sherlock snatches it up and freezes mid-step.

The blood test was positive.

He had children.

Mycroft groans seeing Sherlock's shocked expression and automatically knew the news without ever being told. _Sherlock himself was, in many ways, still a child. How could he be expected to raise two impressionable young children?_ Mycroft sighs.

"And you will want to be keeping them?" He inquires.

"Yes." Sherlock says emotionlessly, his face looking as lifeless as a sheet of pale, white marble. "I do."

His older brother shakes his head, "Fine. I'll have the necessary paperwork sent over. Break it to them gently, Sherlock. They are children, after all."

**…**

That night, Sherlock can't sleep. John doesn't even know yet about the kids and their connection to Sherlock. The two brothers had simply told him what they told the kids: that they were receiving vaccinations and testing their blood for anything that shouldn't be there like viruses, bacteria, or parasites.

Sherlock had mentioned nothing of DNA tests.

Or their mother.

_Besides, what would John even think of the idea of them staying here? And how would they take care of the kids on their limited budget? How could they even begin to find the funds for school supplies, food, toys, clothes…_

Mycroft was right: Sherlock did _hate _children—there was _no way_ this was going to work.

He wasn't a father!

He was a detective!

**…**

"Hello, dears. Did you have a good time?" Mrs. Hudson asks as the door opens.

"No, it was boring. They're all idiots," Lila mumbled. "I think my IQ dropped just from being in the same room with that Anderson guy."

John smirks at her words. _That sounded exactly like something Sherlock would say._

"Alright, up you go. Let's get you kids something to eat," John says and they run up the stairs.

"Mrs. Hudson, John and I need to go out and get some air, would you mind watching the kids for a moment? Thanks." Sherlock walks briskly down the stairs and grabs John by the arm. "Come on, John."

**…**

"They're your what?"

"Children, John. Do try to keep up."

"No, this can't be possible. You can't have children. You're—."

"I am aware this is a bit of a shock but—."

"A shock? No, Sherlock! This isn't a shock! This is impossible! How are we even going to take of them? And what about their mother, hm? What happens when we find her?"

"Chances are, John, she's not alive. The kidnappers would have killed her a long time ago. If we search for her, we'd probably only find her body." Sherlock's heart drops. "And where else would they go? I've looked into it, John—they have _no one_ else…I know it's a bit scary, but we'll get through this. It'll be okay."

"And do they know?" John probes quietly. "You they know yet they you're their…?"

"No. I haven't told them just yet."

"And…when are you?"

"I don't know. There isn't exactly a guidebook for this sort of thing." He shrugs.

John exhales, "We'll tell them tomorrow, then, and we'll find their mother. Even if she is…dead. It would be better they know if she's alive or not, at least; they don't need all the details. That way they won't be waiting for her to show up…and she never does."

"Alright." Sherlock nods. He didn't want to entertain the thought that something bad could have happened to his beloved Aurora…but John was right. "Tomorrow, then."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 **

Sherlock and John had broken the news gently. Acke seemed open to the idea but Lila just glared at Sherlock.

"You're not my dad." She snaps.

"I am." He says softly. "I know it will take some getting used to but—" He's cut off as she runs from the living room and flies down the stairs.

**…**

"Where are you off to?" Mrs. Hudson's voice echoes up the stairs and they hear a door slam loudly. "Strange. Wonder what's gotten into her?"

**…**

"I'm going to after her, John. Are you alright here with…" He gestures to Acke who is staring up at the ceiling with his eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah, mate. We'll be fine." The words have barely left John's mouth when the door slams a second time. The doctor sighs. "So…" John trails off. "It's just you and me, huh?"

"It would appear so, sir." Acke says, still staring at the ceiling, his mouth moving as he says something quietly under his breath.

"What are you doing by the way?" John walks over to his chair and sits while he studied the small boy. Acke never looks at him.

"I am counting the number of dots on your ceiling: 310, so far." Acke blinks, glances at John quickly, and looks away.

"Hm, that's a pretty high number to count to; how old are you, by the way?"

"Four. Did you know that four squared is sixteen and that not all numbers that are squared are even numbers?" Again his eyes cut to John but they flicker away quickly before falling upon John's curious brown eyes.

John frowns. _This kid is only four years old; he shouldn't even be able to multiply yet, let alone figure out advanced math!_

Acke begins to tap his fingers repetitively against his knee and roll his shoulders back: a nervous tick maybe?

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes." He never makes eye contact. In fact, John can't remember ever seeing the boy look anyone in the eyes.

"What do you want to eat? Anything in particular?" John asks and Acke looks at a point by John's mouth when he speaks.

"No."

**…**

"Lila!" Sherlock calls. The night is cold and he finds himself wrapping his jacket tighter around himself as he runs after her. "Lila! Come back!"

But she ignores him and runs faster into the darkness, and his mind swims from the thousands of ways she could get herself hurt or killed in the dark and uncaring streets of London.

"LILA!" He screams louder; she doesn't slow her pace. He speeds up and begins to gain some ground on her. The cold air stings his face and ungloved hands but he refuses to leave her out here all alone.

She's been alone for long enough.

It's time to change that.

It's time for somebody to care.

"Leave me alone!" She snaps as he curls his fingers around her shoulder, forcing her to a skidding stop. She whirs around and starts to punch him in the stomach but he drags her into his arms. Very slowly, she begins to melt into him and sob into his chest and he slips his long, dark coat off and wraps it around her.

She had run out of the flat without a coat and now shivers into his looking small and helpless; her eyes are wide like a scared puppy's.

"Come on." He picks her up and holds her to his chest. "I've got you."

He carries her to a nearby café and buys them both cups of steaming hot tea. She stands beside him with her head tilted down at the ground to hide her face from him and the shame of tears that always comes with sorrow. Together, they walk to a table; she stares out the window and he alternates between looking at her and looking at the floor.

"You're going to be okay," He says softly and he moves to touch her shoulder before thinking better of it. "I will find your mother. I promise."

She says nothing.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks.

"Double homicide." She glares at him and he chuckles.

"That's highly ambitious of you." He smirks. Her eyes narrow even more but she's a little now, too. That was a good sign…right?

"Were you…were you joking earlier?" She asks. "Are you really the man from Mom's story? Are you really our dad?"

"DNA tests don't lie." He answers coolly and shrugs a little.

"Do you?" She swipes her arm across her cheeks to erase some of the tears from her skin.

"Sometimes," He admits. "But never anything important."

"Did you lie to my mom? Is that why you left her?"

"She left me!" He snaps and Lila cowers away.

"I think I can see why." Her voice is quiet. "You're mean."

"I'm sorry." He forces himself to calm down. The customers in the shop are giving him angry looks and Lila looks like she's about to run out the door again. At least two people seem to be seriously considering calling the police. "That was uncalled for." He moves to touch her arm but she shrinks away from him. "I will not hurt you; do you understand? I care about you—and your brother. You are my family and I _will_ protect you."

"No." She shakes her head at him and her green eyes flash defiantly. "You don't care us. If you did, you would have written or called but you never did. She wouldn't have run away to America if she thought that you loved her or if you were safe for us to be around. You don't care about me: no one does."

He blinks in surprise but she takes no notice. The moment the waitress brings them their drinks, Lila slips away into the small crowd there and out the door as Sherlock's attention flicks away from her. When he turns back, she's gone. With a sigh, he grabs both the cups and walks calmly outside to see her leaning impatiently against the wall. Without a word she glances at him and begins to walk, head down, back towards 221B. Not once do his eyes leave her as they walk back to his flat.

This was going to be harder than he had originally thought.

**…**

The children are asleep in Sherlock's room and he elects to take the couch. Their wolf is sleeping in the doorway and the two siblings share the massive bed. John inhales deeply and looks at Sherlock.

"I think Acke might have high-functioning Autism," He says softly and Sherlock looks at him.

"Are you sure, John?" Sherlock's face is blank and John hesitates a little before answering his friend.

"Yes, Sherlock." He says firmly but quietly in an effort to to wake up the children, "I'm one hundred percent positive."

_Hm,_ Sherlock thinks. _Like father, like son._

"It wasn't in his file," Sherlock remarks.

"Chances are, Lila's been protecting him all his life to shield him from scrutiny, which would explain why he's never been diagnosed before. The two are practically inseparable," _Unlike the two Holmes brothers_, John thinks dryly, "It may be a good idea to get him tested."

Sherlock sighs. "Does it really matter? We'll look through old newpapers and news reports on their case tomorrow and see what else we can find out about their mother and situation."

"You're forgetting something, mate." John remarks as he rises stiffly from his chair and starts to plod drowsily to his room.

"And that would be?"

"School, Sherlock. They need to go to school."

Sherlock groans, "It'll rot their brains for sure, al that nonsense that normal people fill their brains with." He groans again. "Why don't we just homeschool them?"

"Right, while we're away for long periods of time during the day, we'll leave two children alone in a flat. That'll work out fantastically." He says sarcastically, "With thumbs and severed heads in the fridge and eyeballs in the microwave." John rolls his eyes.

"That's precisely what I was thinking, John. Good to see that we're both on the same metaphorical page," Sherlock says quickly and he flops down on the couch and stares up at the ceiling with his hands webbed behind his head.

_These poor, poor unsuspecting children,_ he thinks. _They have no chance of winding up normal, not with Sherlock as their parent._

"Goodnight, Sherlock." John shakes his head.

"Goodnight."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Hello, brother mine."

"Good God, Sherlock." Mycroft groans. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Oh, just popping in to visit my favorite brother." Sherlock says evasively.

"What do you want this time, brother mine?"

"John and I are going out on a case." Sherlock begins. _Here it comes_, Mycroft thinks. _Any second now…_ "And the children would benefit _greatly_ from an afternoon with their esteemed uncle."

"Mrs. Hudson refused to watch them, didn't see?"

"She went out. Something to do with being my land lady and not my babysitter." Sherlock shrugs. "Well, have fun." He walks away.

"Sherlock." Mycroft says. Sherlock doesn't stop: he walks faster. "Sherlock! I'm not good with children!"

"You'll do fine!" He calls back. "I have complete faith in you!" The door to Mycroft's office slams shut, leaving him, the kids, and their wolf alone. "I don't like children," he warns them.

"If it makes you feel any better," Lila begins. "I don't particularly care for old people, either. So, I guess we're even. Do you want a cookie?" She pulls a chocolate chip cookie from her bag. "I made it myself."

"Alone?" he asks suspiciously.

"The doctor guy helped her." Acke says.

"You mean John?"

"I think so. Is he a doctor?"

Mycroft sighs. This day was never going to end. "What do you two do for fun?"

"Plan mutiny. What else?"

"How about we turn on some tele instead? That's…_fun_…I think. Don't children watch television in America?" He was going to kill Sherlock for this, he vowed inwardly.

**…**

"I can't believe you did that to that poor man, Sherlock."

"Aw, he'll get over it." Sherlock shrugs. "After all, he is the British intelligence. They're trained to be ready for anything. Watching them should be child's play…no pun intended."

"Right, but still…"

"Come, John. The _game _is on!" He says excitedly as he breaks into a hurried run, leaving Watson to trail behind him.

**…**

Oh dear, God. In only two short hours these 'children' have nearly brought the _entire branch_ of parliament to their knees. Papers cover his entire office and it would take hours if not days to return every sheet to its proper folder and location. The tele lies dissected on the ground and occasionally coughs up a few sparks as if to scream that it's still alive and would appreciate someone coming over to put it out of its misery.

Acke lies on the ground with his head tilted to the side as he rolls his toy car back and forth and back and forth, his eyes focused on the rotating wheels. This only succeeds in sending more stacks of paper billowing down onto the ground and the wolf puppy jumps and leaps happily, crumbling the important documents into the floor. Lila is reading in Mycroft's chair, her eyes pulled into a frown as she mouths the words under her breath.

Mycroft walks into his office with a plate full of sandwiches for the three to eat for lunch. He takes one look at his mangled office and the plate clatters to the floor, their food bleeding into his paperwork. With a snap, the pup makes good work of their food and Mycroft stares in shock and dismay at the state of his once painfully neat haven from the rest of the world.

"Dear, God." He whispers. "How is it even possible for this much damage to have occurred…? I've only been gone _seven_ minutes…seven minutes exactly…"

"Don't look at me," Lila shrugs. "I think Moriarty did it."

The two kids run from the run and Mycroft continues to stare at his demolished workplace, his eyebrows pulled into a frown.

_If it was a war these two desired, then it would be a _war_ that they received._

**…**

"Sherlock? What are we doing at a soup kitchen?"

"Keep your voice down, John. I'm investigating a lead."

"A lead?! How can you _possibly_ have a lead this quickly!"

"See that man right there?" Sherlock says quickly, ignoring his friend's comment. "The one with the blue scarf and the black coat?"

"Yeah…" John gives Sherlock a funny look. _What is he up to this time_, the doctor wonders.

"Keep an eye one him and tell me what he's up to."

"Okay…wait, where are you going?"

"To see a man about a bomb."

"A bomb? What bomb?"

"Of you pop, John" He nudges John forwards and takes off at a gallop before the doctor can stop him. John rolls his eyes and sighs.

**…**

"Come on," Lila pulls Acke underneath a table with a long red tale clothe. "Stay quiet." She whispers and he stifles a giggle and nods.

"Children," Mycroft calls eerily, drawing the word out as he says it. "Where are you?"

Again, Acke stifles a giggle and Lila puts her hand over his mouth.

"Shhh," She breathes. "On three, we run for it."

Mycroft's footsteps near the table.

"One."

He gets closer and they tense.

"Two."

His shadow flickers on the edge of their vision.

_"__Three!" _

They leap to their feet and rush away only to be intercepted by security guards.

"Now, then." Mycroft says softly. "We are going to go back to my office and you _will _return it back to order."

"_Or_?" Lila challenges him.

"Defy me," He threatens darkly, "And you'll find out." He walks away, swinging his umbrella from side to side and the guards drag the children after them.

**…**

When John and Sherlock return to pick the kids up to take them 221B they find Mycroft duct taped to his chair with finger paint all over his face. The room is littered with crumbled papers and his desk is upside down, the trashcan emptied into his chair. He glares at Sherlock and Sherlock raises an eyebrow at him curiously while John moves to release the man from his sticky prison.

"Hm," The younger Holmes brother remarks. "You fell for the old 'drugged cookie' gag, eh, brother mine? So, where are the little ones?"

"I don't know," Mycroft growls, "but when you find them, give them my _best_." He stalks out of the room and hits the wall with his umbrella before disappearing from sight and John shoots Sherlock a worried glance. Sherlock looks away to hide a smile.

"So…I take it that it didn't go well, then?"

Sherlock bursts into laughter. "Oh, John." He says between gasps. "I'd say it went perfectly!" Tears stream from his eyes.

"But the cookies weren't drugged, Sherlock. I helped make them myself."

"Not exactly, I may have switched the vanilla out with—"

"Sherlock!"

"Come on, John. Even _you_ have got to admit that it was amusing to see him like this."

"That was wrong, Sherlock."

"But still humorous, no?"

"Sherlock…"

"I regret nothing."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"What are you doing with my computer, Sherlock?" John inquires as he sinks into his chair.

"Looking at various educational institutions."

"Why? I thought you were going the homeschool route." John smirks and quickly wipes his smile away to look at Sherlock with a serious face; Sherlock doesn't notice.

"Neither Mrs. Hudson nor Molly will agree to babysit them, and Mycroft won't watch them, and I can't fathom _why_. After all, no one had died during their brief bonding period." Sherlock shrugs. "Must be his old age," He reasons and John smirks.

_How is it the most brilliant man in the world could be so clueless sometimes,_ the doctor thinks.

"Yeah and I guess that having World War III take place in his office was just a minor…_blip_, huh? Nothing too drastic?"

A corner of Sherlock's lips curls upward a little. "Yes, exactly. I can see why Moriarty allowed her to escape. Can you imagine the kind of havoc my little Lila would wreak on his crisp and orderly home? It's be OCD nightmare," Sherlock chuckles. "And Moriarty is nothing if not obsessive."

"What do you think set them off?"

"Boredom, probably. At least his walls were fine." Together, they both look at the smiley face Sherlock had painted onto the wall and subsequently used as target practice when he had been swallowed mercilessly by boredom. "Which reminds me: Mycroft has requested that we all go back tomorrow and clean up his workspace."

"Dear, God." John groans. "That can't possibly end well."

"No," Sherlock agrees. "Probably not."

"Find anything?"

"There's one not too far away." Sherlock yawns. "We can try them there, I suppose."

"Hopefully it ends better than your last brilliant plan." John shakes his head. "'Come on, John. It'll be _fun_, John. They'll _love _it; what can _possibly_ go wrong?'" John sighs. "That poor, _poor_ man."

"He's still alive isn't he?" Sherlock growls in irritation. "We'll just have to take them with us to cases until we can figure something out, then."

"'We'? I think you mean _you_, Sherlock."

"Whatever." Sherlock rolls his eyes and Lila walks in. "Breakfast?" Sherlock asks, pushing a plate of eggs towards her.

"Acke's sick—he has a fever." She announces and John hops to his feet to go check on the lad.

"Yep," He agrees. "Definitely has a temperature. Sherlock, come in here place. We need to get him into some cold water."

"That bad?" Sherlock frowns.

"Sherlock! Get in here!"

**…**

Try as they might, the fever won't go down and now he's vomiting like crazy with sharp abdominal pain. Eventually, Sherlock winds up wrapping the boy in a light blanket and holding him close while John runs to hail down a cab. Lila says nothing and, by now, Sherlock is positive that Acke isn't sick.

**…**

"Holmes family?" The nurse calls. "The doctor will see you now."

"Is he alright?" John asks. "Will he be alight?"

"Right this way please," The nurse says, ignoring Watson's questions.

**…**

"I'm Doctor Smith; I'm here to talk to you about your son."

"Tell us something we don't know," Lila complains. "That's why we're here in the first place! Just tell us what's up!" She snaps and Sherlock smiles.

"Right…" He clears his throat. "It seems to be food poisoning but nothing too serious. We'll give him so fluids via IV and antibiotics and you should be able to take him home in a day or two."

"But he is fine?" John questions the Dr. Smith nods.

"Yes. He is no immediate danger. The worst thing you'd have to watch for is dehydration, hence, the IV." He smiles to reassure them all.

They aren't reassured.

**…**

"We can't all sleep at the hospital." John says as he pulls a groggy Lila into his arms. "Come on, we'll visit again tomorrow." John grunts and he looks at Sherlock. "You sure you're okay here with him? We can still switch if you want."

"I'm fine, John. Really."

John nods, unconvinced and feels a sharp pang of sympathy for any unsuspecting nurse who comes in to check on Acke during the night. Sherlock on his own was difficult enough not to punch in the face but a stressed Sherlock?

Those poor, poor unsuspecting fools.

**…**

Sherlock paces the room as he thinks while Acke sleeps. The small boy's tiny chest rises and falls with each breath. Sherlock groans inwardly. Why had he decided to stay here? It was so boring! Maybe, if he got ahold of some newspaper, he could light a small fire and…

No, Acke would never disentangle himself from those monitors to get out the window before the doctors came running to see what the problem was. Sherlock groans. Next time, he vows, John is staying instead. After all, he is a doctor, so it's more his area than Sherlock's.

"Trying day, was it?" Mycroft walks in and Sherlock reconsiders the small fire option.

"It would appear so," Sherlock says with a yawn. "What brings _you_ here, brother mine?"

"Your little_ beasts_ were tearing my office apart yesterday and now one has been hospitalized, although, I can't say I'm particularly upset."

"And you are here _why_?"

"To check in. It's what…a 'normal' uncle would do, yes?"

"Since when have _you_ wanted to be _normal_? Since when have _either_ of us been _normal_?"

"Like it or not, Sherlock, we are their family now. I assumed that I should try to at least look like I was putting in an effort to be…uncle-like."

"So, you'll homeschool them, then?"

"Not on your life."

"I like them better this way," Sherlock says softly. "When they're sleeping, they are a lot quieter than when they are awake."

"And calmer, too," Mycroft remarks. "This one I wouldn't mind keeping an eye on…the other one though…" He trails off and frowns. "But I suppose it wasn't entirely her fault. They were homeless for a while and there are clear signs of child abuse and trauma. Perhaps, it is just one of those 'phases' children go through."

"Or it's an American thing." Sherlock shrugs.

"So, how are you doing on their case—with locating their mother?"

"I'm getting there and this is, of course, assuming that there is anything left to find."

"Moriarty and his games," Mycroft nods. "Well, Sherlock, I'll leave you to it. Tell him I stopped by, will you?"

"Oh, why not?" Sherlock collapses on the small couch and closes his eyes. He just might be able to escape the cruel, icy grip of boredom if he can fall asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Acke yawns and looks around. Sherlock is still sleeping and there isn't a nurse in sight. He smiles slowly and begins to careful disconnect himself from the various medical instruments. His bare feet touch the cold tiles and he shudders but that doesn't stop him from continuing on with his mission. Quietly, he slips over to Sherlock and shakes his shoulder. The older man blinks at him in confusion before lasering in on the small boy.

"What is it?" He sits up and puts a hand on the boy to help steady himself. "What's wrong?"

"I want to go home."

"Home?" Sherlock blinks and rubs his head: a developing headache is pounding behind his temples. "Your home is thousands of miles away." He shakes his head but the pain doesn't lessen in the slightest.

"No, it's not. It's only ten minutes away. Remember? The home with John." Acke yawns again and leans against Sherlock. "So, can we?" He looks pleadingly up at Sherlock and Sherlock runs a hand through his long, curly hair. "Dad? Can we go home now? Please?"

"Sure." Sherlock gathers him in his arms and stands up while he searches the room for where John had put the boy's clothes so he can change out of that flimsy hospital gown.

**…**

Within an hour (thanks to some minor help from the British Government, AKA Mycroft Holmes), they are in a cab and heading homeward.

"Alright," Sherlock leans back and inspects the bottle in his hands. "The doctor says you are to take on of these every few hours…and you are to eat first." Acke nods.

"Can we go to the park later?" He asks and Sherlock shakes his head.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you're sick."

"But I'm feeling much better now. I think…I think if we go to the park I may not ever be sick again." He protests. "I'll be better for ever and ever."

"Oh, really?" Sherlock chuckles. "Is that so?"

"Uh, huh."

"We can't go today. Perhaps tomorrow."

"Promise?"

Sherlock sighs, "Yes, Acke. I promise."

**…**

"John!" Mrs. Hudson calls when Sherlock walks in the door with a happ Acke held lightly in his arms. "John, they're back!" She turns to Sherlock. "Hang on now, Sherlock. I've got something for the little one." She walks away and Sherlock groans in frustration. When she returns she pushes a small wrapped box into Acke's hands and beams at him. "There you are."

"Thank you, ma'am." He responds as Sherlock rushes up the stairs and deposits him on the couch.

"Sherlock," John yawns. "How was it? Didn't drive the nurses crazy did you?"

"I don't think so."

Sherlock watches as Acke slowly begins to work the small box open and he pears inside and smiles widely. "Look, dad!" He shouts. "She gave me car!"

The two men smile and Lila watches the scene from the doorway.

"Are you feeling better?" Lila asks Acke nervously and the boy smiles widely.

"Yes!" He shouts and the men chuckle quietly. "My tummy still hurts and I'm tired, but I'm feeling better. And tomorrow—tomorrow, dad said we can go to the park!" He cheers.

"Is that right?" John asks and he cocks his head to look at Sherlock.

"A little air would do him well," Sherlock shrugs. "As long as he's feeling up to it, I don't see the problem." John sighs but Sherlock continues to talk. "Besides, if he starts to feel unwell again, we'll take him home."

Acke is sitting on the floor and rolling his new car back and forth. Mrs. Hudson brings up a platter of hot tea later. The adults drink there's instantly and Lila eyes the cups suspiciously.

"What's wrong?" John asks. "Not thirsty?"

"We don't have hot tea in America…it's weird—I don't like it at all," She says as she lifts the glass to better examine its contents.

"Have you tried it, yet?" John asks and she shakes her head at him. "Well, how can you know whether or not you like it, if you never try it, hm?" He proposed gently. She narrows her eyes at him and takes a quick sip. The hot liquid burns her throat and mouth and she swallows quickly and starts to cough.

"No," She grimaces and the men burst out laughing. "I don't like it."

**…**

That night, Sherlock tucks them into bed. He puts Lila on an air mattress beside's Sherlock's old bed and Acke gets Sherlock's bed and a garbage can beside him in case he starts to vomit during the night. He gives them each a peck on the forehead and ruffles their hair gently before walking out of the room.

His phone rings and he groans inwardly before flipping it open and answering.

"What?" He snaps.

"Oh, Sherlock," A soft voice purrs over the other line. "No need to be rude."

"And what do you want, Jim?" Sherlock growls.

"Me?" Moriarty asks playfully before feigning mock innocence. "Nothing. I want nothing at all. However," His voce goes gold and Sherlock can hear his beloved Aurora—the children's mother—suddenly start screaming in the background. "May need your help. I wouldn't keep her waiting, either," Moriarty continues. "It's never good courtesy to keep a woman waiting…and she does seem to be in a bit of bind." He says playfully before laughing. "You have two weeks. After that, she dies. Say hello to the children for me, will you? Oh, and their mom sends them her love."

There's a click and then silence.

Sherlock's heart pounds furiously in his chest and red begins to cloud his vision as liquid rage races through his veins like an unstoppable freight train but a small whisper of relief followed his rage: she was alive. Sure, she was being tortured and may die, but _she was alive!_

Now he just has to find her and pray that he makes it there in time before the bullet as a chance to leap from the barrel of a gun and end her life. But he can do this, he was sure. After all, he's been up against worse odds. Chances are, he'd find her in three days and wouldn't even need the extra time.

He hoped.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Mrs. Hudson takes them to the park the next morning, and Sherlock throws himself into the case. Mycroft sends him more files pertaining to their lives in America, but so far nothing useful has popped up. John has to force him to eat and sleep otherwise; Sherlock would starve himself and stay up for days at a time pacing around the flat. The children shoot him worried looks but don't bother him.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Acke whispers to Lila and she shrugs.

"I don't know." She admits. "But I'm sure John can fix him. He's a doctor which is sort of like a mechanic for people. If Sherlock is broken, John can just give him so medicine to make him better."

"Are you sure?" He asks.

She isn't. "Of course," She says softly as she leads him downstairs towards Mrs. Hudson's living areas.

**…**

Sherlock paces faster and John watches his friend quietly. The taller man mutters under his breath and glares at the area around him as he moves manically back and forth. His heart races and a combination of liquid rage and terror sizzle through his veins and ignite his heart. His mind whirls chaotically as if it were tearing himself apart and he feels as if his world is beginning to crash all around him. His ears rings slightly and his skin crawls. The walls are closing in on him—it's getting harder to breath. He finds himself panting as another tsunami of terror rushes over him and makes him stagger slightly. John leaps up and catches him by the elbow before he hits the ground and Sherlock quickly pushes the smaller man away and resumed pacing. John's wide concerned brown eyes follow his every move. But he doesn't stop. He can't.

If he doesn't find her, she will die.

He can't let her die!

He loves her…

**…**

"Sherlock?" John calls worriedly. "Where are you going?"

But Sherlock doesn't listen. He runs straight out the door and breaks into a wild sprint. His mind is falling apart! He can't breathe! He can't think! He needs to run—he needs to escape so he can have a moment of sweet, sweet isolation. He can't the children's curious stares and John's worried looks any longer!

Just five minutes. That's all he needs. Just five minutes alone.

His phone rings and he glances at the caller ID: John. He ignores it and continues to run, leaving the safety of 221B behind. Aurora was counting on him. If he failed, she would die and it would be all his fault.

He tries to swallow but his mouth is as dry as chalk.

He has to save her; he has to.

**…**

For hours, he wanders through the harsh, uncaring streets of London. His phone rings and he answers with a groan.

"Hello?" He asks, his voice flat.

"Hello, Sherlock." A playful and soft voice says: Jim Moriarty, "Tick, tock. I'd hurry if I were you…you only have two weeks…my dear," Quiet laughter.

Sherlock snaps the phone shut and resumes walking and turns his collar up against the cold. Clouds of smoke spew from his mouth and he glares at the people who pass him. Look at them with their simple lives and idle brains. They don't have these problems. They don't have to battle with a madman and war against time while their loved one is struggling to live. Every second, the door that leads to her survival is getting pulled closer and closer to shutting. And once it closes, nothing will be able to open it again and reverse the damage—her death.

Nothing short of a miracle, anyway.

And Sherlock didn't believe in miracles.

**…**

Time flies by, faster and faster and nothing Sherlock can do can trap it. A week flies by and how he's halfway through the other one. John watches him worriedly. Sherlock can hardly keep anything down and only nibbles at his food. Mrs. Hudson also watches him but neither of them know what to make of it—he's more manic than usual.

But he doesn't tell them.

He doesn't want them know that he'll fail.

He can't bring himself to look at the children…but he can tell that Lila knows. She watches him with quiet, knowing green eyes and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"You'll find her, Dad." She says softly and his eyes fill with tears.

This was the first time she has ever referred to him as 'Dad'. What is wrong with him? Why is he so emotional? His brain was a piece of hard drive, it was above the things average people called 'feelings'…but then again, Aurora always did have that affect. She always could make him laugh and smile and ignite a spark of warmth in his chest that no one else could.

And now she might die.

Because she had stolen his heart and Moriarty had vowed to burn his heart out of his chest and leave him empty and lifeless, a bony husk in the wilderness that was society. His children look to him for safety and protection but he can't even protect their mom! He couldn't stop her from leaving him, how can he protect them when he can't even find her? Moriarty will be back and if he isn't stopped, he will kill the kids next, then John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade…

_Why couldn't he have kidnapped Anderson? No one likes him. Heck, he'd be doing the world a favor. The moment Anderson dies, the world's IQ will jump up fifty points_, Sherlock thinks wryly.

"I know." He says to Lila and he kisses her forehead.

She wrinkles her nose at him in disgust and swipes her wrist across her head to erase all traces of his affection for her and he laughs for the first time in a long time. Her green eyes study him for a minute and she wraps her arms around him and buries her head in his chest and listens to his booming heart. Sherlock is shocked into momentary paralysis. Very slowly, he brings his arms around her and hugs her back without apply any real pressure as if she were a fragile china doll.

"You'll find her." She murmurs into his shirt and he scoops her up into his lap and continues to hold her close. He rests his chin on the top of his head and stares at the wall.

How could she possibly know if he would or wouldn't locate the woman before the end came?

"I love you, Dad." She says softly, her words barely louder than a breath. Her breathing evens out and he knows that she's fallen asleep. Carefully, he stands and walks towards the bedroom. He'll have to talk to Mrs. Hudson tomorrow about getting them their own rooms and then get them enrolled in a school somewhere…

He sighs.

Who knew parenting would be this difficult?

"Goodnight." He kisses her forehead again and her nose wrinkles in her sleep. He smirks and covers her up with the blanket and ruffles Acke's hair on the way out. Their wolf watches him quietly and he pats it on the head.

**…**

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, Gavin?" Sherlock sighs into the phone. "Do you realize what time it is? The children are trying to sleep!" He yells and John yells at him to shut up. He scowls lowers his voice. "What do you want?"

"We've found something…you may want to come check it out."

"It can't wait until morning?" He growls.

"No…I don't think you will want to wait until morning for this one." Lestrade says slowly. "I need you to make an identification on a victim."

Sherlock's mouth runs dry. _Victim? Identification? _His mind balks at the possibilities. _No!_ He still had four days left! _No! It wasn't fair! Moriarty's breaking the rules! He's cheating!_

"I'm on my way." His voice is cold, emotionless, detached. He hangs up and shrugs into his coat like a robot and walks numbly to the stairs. The door opens and the cold seeps through his coat to slice into his bones.

He never feels it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The woman is limp with deathly pale features. John drives up in a cab and jumps out, looking worried.

"Don't worry," He says. "Mrs. Hudson is watching the kids."

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock swallows. He doesn't want John here but at the same time, he's glad that he's not alone with this either.

"Lestrade called me. What's going on?"

"Body identification." He swallows again and then tells John everything. John blinks in surprise but he doesn't anything. "Well," Sherlock says shakily. "We best get it over with." He moves past the time and stalks painstakingly slow towards the woman until he can see her face.

It's her.

It's his precious Aurora.

He turns away quickly but the image of the broken woman will forever be burned into his mind and nothing will ever take it away. He swallows and tears begin to fall. Anderson and Donovan watch in shock as their psychopath begins to cry. They had ever thought him capable of harbouring such emotions within him…now that he's actually showing them, it feels awkward.

They look away.

Lestrade clears his throat and coughs to get Sherlock's attention, "I take it that's her then, Sherlock?"

John stoops down to study the body and his fingers touch her cold, white neck and he frowns.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade tries again and Sherlock quickly wipes the moisture from his face and sniffles before turning to the police detective. "Are you…" Lestrade blinks in surprise and stops himself just in time.

John continues to examine the body. His mouth opens but no words escape.

**…**

"Am I what?" Sherlock narrows his pale blue eyes at the detective, daring him to speak.

"Crying. Were you just…crying?" He says dispassionately and he suddenly wished he hadn't. Sherlock tenses as if to reach himself to take a swing at the detective's nose when John speaks up to save the day.

"Call a medic." He says tensely.

"What?"

"A medic! She's not dead!" He snaps and Donovan quickly pulls out her phone to make the call. "Greg, give me your coat. Sherlock, help me. We need to keep her warm."

Sherlock obediently drops to his knees. Sure enough, now that he looked closely, he could see small clouds of air rushing out of her lungs. She was breathing. He checks her pulse. Her heart was beating. He smiles widely.

She was alive!

The ambulance screams into sight and they quickly whisk her away to give her the medical care she so desperately needs.

**…**

"Dad, will she be okay?" Lila asks and she swings her legs back and forth while they wait in the hospital's waiting room.

Sherlock stares into nothingness. John smiles tensely.

"I'm sure that she will be fine," He reassures her. "Don't worry about it, alright?"

"Alright." She says but she still looks nervous.

The doctor walks out and looks at them. It's the same guy from when Acke was ill from food poisoning. Lila scowls at him and Sherlock smirks at her.

"Well?" She demands and the doctor looks a little worried.

"She is in ICU and is currently unconscious." He replies and Sherlock watches him intently as though looking for any falsehoods buried within the medic's words. He finds none.

"Will she live?" He asks.

"It is uncertain. For now, she is alive."

"Can we see her?" Acke asks hopefully and the doctor shakes his head.

"No, I'm afraid not. She's too ill to have visitors. If any of you are carrying foreign pathogens on your clothes or skin and she gets it then she may not survive. I'm sorry." He leaves.

"Well…" John says slowly. "Why don't we all go back to the flat, hum? We'll try again tomorrow, right Sherlock?"

Sherlock nods wordlessly and swallows. "Yes."

Mrs. Hudson had made them dinner. They gulp the steaming hot food down in silence, their minds all upon the woman who slumbers in the hospital, her soul dangling precariously between life and death. That night, Sherlock puts them to bed and he lies on the sofa and stares up at the ceiling until his vision begins to blur. He's numb with worry and his head is pounding from the brutal onslaught of a ruthless headache. Sherlock doesn't even know when he ever fell asleep. He just knows that one minute he was staring at the ceiling and the next, he was waking up on the couch with a river of drool pouring from his mouth and onto the sofa cushions. He looks around to see what had awakened him.

His phone.

Mycroft is calling.

He sighs and answers irritably, "Go away, Mycroft. Go declare war on some unsuspecting country and leave me in peace."

"But then you'll miss me," He hears Mycroft smirk on the other line. _He must have had cake today, there's no other reason besides a sugar high that the British Government would still be awake at this ungodly hour of the night._ "And what are you doing, brother mine?"

"I was sleeping, brother dearest. Is there something you need?"

"I was calling actually to check up on your case. I heard you find Ms. Aurora today. How'd that go?"

"She's alive." Sherlock yawns. "Is that all?"

"No, but it will suffice for now. Good night, brother mine. Do try to count some sheep from me."

_Click!_

Sherlock glares at his phone. William Sherlock Scott Holmes does not 'count sheep': he counts serial killers! Mycroft was slipping in his old age. He'd be senile soon enough. Maybe then they can stop having their middle of the night conversations. He slams his phone down on the table and collapses back onto the sofa and yawns.

"Dad?" A small voice squeaks and Sherlock squeezes his eyes tightly closed and shoves his face into his pillows. What now?

"Yes?" He yawns. "What is it; what's wrong?"

"I had a nightmare." Acke sniffles and Sherlock looks at him for a minute. What was he supposed to do now.

"Hang on." He stands up and walks to his computer.

'WHAT TO DO WHEN YOUR CHILD HAS A NIGHTMARE' he types in. Nothing useful comes up. Sherlock groans. Great, there goes that option. He walks past Acke and picks up a pillow.

"I'll be right back." He promises as he walks into John's room, turns on the light, and starts hitting the Army doctor with the pillow. "John! John, wake up!" He yells and John jerks awake, blinking quickly from sleep.

"Hm…? What's…going on?" He slurs as he looks around withhis arm up by his face to ward off another attack. "Sherlock?" Sherlock grabs him by the arm and drags him to the living room.

"It's broken." He complains and John wobbles unsteadily next to him.

"What'd you do this time and why can't it wait 'till morning?"

"The boy—Acke—he's broken. He had a nightmare: show me what to do."


	15. Chapter 15

**Sorry for the LONG wait (seriously, SORRY), I've been trying to figure out where I was going to take this story and have been thinking on it constantly. Hopefully, this chapter makes up for it.**

**Chapter 15**

Aurora is lying unnaturally still in the hospital bed. A machine is breathing for her and various tubes and machines are hooked up to her as they force her to remain alive. Her eyes lids stay closed. Sherlock sits stiffly in a hard, scarlet chair beside her bed and fishes his fingers into her cold, unmoving hand and squeeze his eyes shut briefly.

"How long will she be like this?" He asks when the doctor finally enters the room.

John is at the flat with Mrs. Hudson and the children. Sherlock had insisted on coming alone but that didn't stop Mycroft from sauntering in with his hand grasping a black umbrella. Sherlock ignores his brother and keeps his eyes on the flustered doctor.

"It will be hard to say," the doctor stammers. "She could be in a coma for a day…or years. I'm afraid that each case varies."

"Is there hope at least, that she will reawaken?" Mycroft asks.

"It's too early to tell right now sir. I'll have my team run some tests as soon as possible." The doctor swallows and leaves quickly before any more questions can be asked.

"She's a stubborn woman if I remember correctly," Mycroft says monotonously. "I'm sure she'll be up soon enough and nagging the hospital staff before we know it."

"Trying to comfort me, Mycroft?" Sherlock asks disdainfully. "Perhaps you should stick to politics—they suit you better."

**…**

"So?" John asks when Sherlock returns. "How is she?"

"She's in a coma. They don't know how long." Sherlock breezes past him, walks into his room, and closes the door.

"That's bad." Lila says. "Isn't it?"

"I don't think so. It just means she's going to be asleep for a bit, that's all."

"Will she wake up?" Acke asks. "We can bring her coffee. Coffee always woke her up, and she liked donuts—Lila said so. If we get her coffee and donuts, she'll wake up."

"It isn't that easy." John says and he sits down in his chair so that he and the children are closer to eye level. "Now, listen. Your mother is going to be fine."

"Yahoo." Mrs. Hudson says before walking in. "Now why do you all look so sad? Come, we're going to the park to get some ice cream." She says and Acke smiles a little.

"Can we look at the trains?" He asks and Mrs. Hudson laughs.

"Of course, we can!" She laughs again. "And then we'll pick up some groceries. John? Do you two need me to pick up anything while we're out?"

"I've got it, thanks." He says and Mrs. Hudson nods.

"Alrighty, then. Well, if you change your mind, I'm only a phone call away, dear. Give Sherlock my love." And then they leave.

**…**

Sunlight dances through the trees. The children laugh and cheer as they run happily around in the wide expanse. Acke jumps onto the swings and Lila pushes him. Dogs bark happily and skip about and other children run past them.

"Do you really think she'll be okay?" Acke asks as Lila pushes him.

"John said she would be." She answers cryptically.

"Do you believe him?" He probes further and she thinks for a minute.

"Yes. He wouldn't say she'd be alright if he didn't mean it."

"I like John." Acke says finally.

"Me too. Do you want to go look in the store? I found some money on the ground."

"Do you think Mrs. Hudson will mind?"

"Nah. I say we can get to it and back without her noticing. See? She's watching the birds right now anyway. Besides, the faster we get there, the faster we can come back. Come on!" Lila takes off at a run.

"Wait for me!" Acke yells and he runs faster to catch up.

**…**

"So, what are we going to get?" Acke asks and Lila shrugs.

"You got me. I figured we could just look around and, you know, see what they've got."

"What about this?" Acke points to a large navy blue scarf. "Dad wears scarfs…would he like this one do you think?"

"I don't know." Lila thinks. "Let's keep looking."

"But what about Mrs. Hudson? We've been here for five point eight minutes. If we're gone too long then she'll notice and we will get in trouble."

"Here." Lila passes the scarf to Acke. "We'll get it for dad. You give the money and scarf to the clerk and I'll keep a look out."

"Okay."

**…**

"Do you think he'll like it?" Acke asks.

"Shhh! It's a secret, remember? It's going to be a surprise." Lila whispers.

"Why?" Acke wonders.

"Because it'll be fun." Lila states simply.

"How?"

"I don't know. It just will be."

They run back to the park with the scarf hidden nearly in Lila's bag. Acke jumps back onto the swings and Lila resumes pushing him. Mrs. Hudson sneaks a peak at the two and smiles at them.

"So, are you two ready to go shopping?"

"What about the trains?" Acke frowns and Mrs. Hudson chuckles at him and pats the boy on the back. Acke winces and wiggles away from her touch.

"We'll ride the tub on the way home, dearie."

**…**

John drums on Sherlock's bedroom door insistently. He had been knocking on it ever since Mrs. Hudson and the children had left but Sherlock had chosen to simply ignore him. John pounds hard and the doors mutters more muffled moans of complaint.

"Sherlock! Come on—you need to eat something." John says.

"I'm not hungry, John." Sherlock answers and the doctor starts in surprise. He was finally getting a reaction from him! Yes!

"Sherlock!" John knocks louder on the other man's bedroom door. "You can't hide in there all day!" He shouts.

"If I were hiding, you would not be able to find me—don't be absurd. Hiding in one's own bedroom is completely ludicrous; it's such an obvious place to seek shelter."

"You know what I mean." John sighs in exasperation. "Open. The. Door."

"I'm not hungry." Sherlock insists.

"Then come out at least. Locking yourself up in your room will not wake her up and you know it!"

"I'm fine!" Sherlock yells back.

"Stop acting like a child and get out here!"

"Make me!" He challenges and John hears the man's bed springs squeak and he deduces that Sherlock had just jumped on the bed and is now lying on it as he shouts at John through the door.

"Sherlock!"

"Go away! I'm busy!" Sherlock says in a loud and annoyed tone.

"Doing what?! Sulking?"

"Goodbye, John!" Sherlock yells and the doctor sighs in defeat.

"You know what? Fine! Stay in there all month—see if I care." John walks away and he hears the bed squeak again as Sherlock sits up.

"Where are you going?" The detective inquires as he pads barefoot to the door, but he doesn't open it. "John?"

"I'm going out!" He hears the door slam and very cautiously enters the living room to peer outside the window. With a small smirk of victory, he plops down on the couch to take a nap.

**…**

SLAM!

"Sherlock! SHERLOCK!"

The detective snaps awake in an instant and stumbles to the staircase only to just avoid running Mrs. Hudson over.

"Sherlock! It's horrible! Sherlock—I'm so sorry!" The old woman blubbers.

"What is it? What happened?"

"They're gone!" She wails and Sherlock's heart sinks as the meaning of her words slams into him with the force of a semi-truck. His children, Acke and Lila.

"Where? How long ago?" He demands.

"On the tube! We were coming home and there was a fight—and I was pushed. My back was turned for one minute—one minute, Sherlock!"

"And they were taken…" He finishes and to his horror tears fall down her wrinkled cheeks, confirming his worst fears.

"I'm so sorry!" She sobs and he moves past her.

**…**

"Lila? Where are we?" Acke's voice echoes in the dark and damp dungeon. "What happened? Why does my head hurt?" The little boy whines.

"I don't know." The young girl coughs and rubs her own throbbing temple. "I think we've been drugged." She slurs and she stands shakily.

"Good," Moriarty purrs and Lila's head whips up to look at him; he leans calmly back against the wall and smirks at him cruelly.

His soft brown eyes glint joyfully. Lila gives an angry roar and runs to tackle him. Moriarty calmly pulls a taser from him pocket. She shrieks as he flicks it easily onto her stomach and she collapses to the ground in twitching and convulsing heap. Acke yells and runs up to her and looks down at her worriedly.

"Lila!" He yells. "LILA!"

She gaps and Moriarty lets his eyes flicker over them as she sits up shakily.

"I sure hope your father finds you faster than he did your mum," Moriarty says with mock concern and his smiles wolfishly at them. "If not well…I don't think you'll survive long enough to make it to a hospital…"


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"We need to get out of here." Lila says as she peers quietly around in the darkness. "Do you see a way out, Acke?"

"No." He whines and she swallows nervously at his answer. "I'm hungry, Lila."

"I am too."

"Do you think Dad will find us?"

"Of course he will." She says with move conviction than she feels and Acke seems to stand a little straighter at her hopeful words. "He's the best detective in the world. If anyone can find us, he can. Dad and John will both come here and show that man whose boss!" She says loudly and Acke grins. His eyes shine brightly.

"Do you really think so?" He asks and he doesn't see her nod at him in the darkness.

"Yes. I really do," She says quietly and she looks up at the roof where the wall kisses the ceiling. A small barred window glares down at them and allows moonlight to slip into was washing over the two scared children.

That night they sit as close as they can without making any sort of physical contact what so ever and they shiver in the darkness as the cold air slices through them. Outside the wind howls ominously through the trees and thunder booms loudly in their chests as their hearts race.

"Are we going to die?" Acke whispers as he squirms closer to his sister for warmth, too cold to care about making physical contact.

"I don't know." She admits. "But I'm not going down with a fight."

**…**

No one comes for them. For days they are locked alone in their cold and damp basement. There's a small bathroom to one side that contains a sink, some toilet paper, and a toilet, an old and worn mattress lies abandoned in front of them, and small pieces of glass litter the floor. At about noon, someone throws in a single bottle of water but no food.

Their capture and his men never speak to them.

The floorboards creak above them and their eyes shoot to the door in longing. Any minute now. Any minute now, their dad would storm the place and take them far away from here and this mad man. He'll swoop in and then take them somewhere safe. Somewhere with warmth. Shelter. And food…any minute now…

But minutes turn into hours. Hours melt into days.

Their stomachs growl loudly and pain rips through their empty bellies—they hadn't eaten since the day Mrs. Hudson had taken them to a park and it was eating them alive. It was so bad that Lila was now watching the rats as they scurried across the floor and considered catching a few before quickly pushing the thought away.

"I'm hungry." Acke whine for the thousandth time and Lila squints at him through the inky darkness. She can barely make his form out.

"Here," She stands and her weak and trembling legs nearly buckle. "Come here, Acke. See if you can get out." She cups her hands together.

Her mom had always told her to look out for her little brother because he was different from other children. He was often getting disapproving glances from other adults who saw him spinning in public or lining up pebbles on the side walk with his head tilted to the side—but that didn't mean that he deserved to die.

He didn't deserve this treatment.

This cruelty.

If Lila could get just him out she could at least take comfort in the fact that he was safe: nothing else would matter. Not even her own security. So what if they tortured her? Killed her? It wasn't like she'd make it out of this anyway—kidnappings seldom went well. Even if her father had found her, what's he going to do to impede the flight of a bullet?

"And then what?" Acke asks.

"Run away to get help—and come back with a cheeseburger." She jokes and she can hear him giggle quietly. His foot slips into her hands. Grunting, she slowly begins to lift him up. "Can you get out?" She whispers and he nods down at her before responding.

"I think so." He reaches up and pulls himself outside. His head pokes back through the bars and he looks down at her. "I'm scared, Lila. What I get lost? What if they catch me or hurt you because you helped me?"

"Don't worry—we'll be fine. Go get help, okay? Go get Dad and John." She whispers. "Hurry, Acke, before they find out." She can hear him sniffle as he pulls away.

"Goodbye. I'll back soon with help." He promises silently and hot tears slip down Lila's face as her throat closes up as she worries about whether or not he'll escape…or if they'll find and kill her little brother.

_No, don't think about it._

Grass can be heard crunching underfoot and then silence. He was gone. Her heart feels as if it were made of lead and icy terror rips through her. When the man—Moriarty—figured out Acke was gone, he was going to be livid, which wouldn't bode well for the young girl. But he brother would be safe that's what matters.

Again the floor boards creak overhead, but to Lila's great relief no one makes an appearance. Shaking from starvation, she slowly slips onto the squeaky mattress and curls into a ball on her side, but she doesn't close her eyes. When they come, she wants to be awake—she wants to be prepared and aware. It'd be easier to get her bearings and to fight for her life if her head wasn't bleary from sleep.

The door handle jiggles and she can hear it unlocking. Her heart seems to freeze mid-beat and every hair on the back of her neck stands straight up. Something was happening and whatever it was couldn't be good.

_Please let Acke get away-please don't let them have him. Please!_ She begs inwardly as she presses her back close to the wall. Slowly, the door creaks open and a sharp white beam of light cuts down the rickety wooden staircase.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Lila cowers into the wall and tries to make herself as small as humanly possible as strange men enter the room where she is being held in. Moriarty strides in and his eyes laugh at her darkly. Her eyes narrow to shoot him glare but he merely smiles widely with amusement in response.

"Well," He says silkily. "No one can deny that you are certainly your father's daughter." His brown eyes rake over the room and his eyebrows furrow ever so slightly with annoyance. "There were two of you—where is the boy?" Moriarty asks.

Lila presses her lips into a tight line and shrugs at him in silent defiance. Moriarty sighs before analyzing her coldly like snake would a mouse. His lips curl into a predatory smile as he steps closer to her and his eyes narrow into cobra-like slits. His pink tongue swipes across his lips, and, to his immense satisfaction she flinches as he draws near to her. His brown eyes burn as they flicker to her before looking over the rest of the room calmly as he silently searches every nook and crevice that could hide a small child—nothing.

The boy is definitely missing.

Again he looks at her before allowing his eyes to drift upwards to the window.

Moriarty then turns to the captain of his guard, "Take your men outside and shoot anything that moves." Lila goes pale as a sheet and Moriarty smiles coldly at her. "Perhaps that will teach you not to cross me."

"And if we find the boy?" The captain of the guard inquires, but he already has a sinking feeling in his gut because he knows _exactly_ what Moriarty had meant: kill the boy and do not allow him escape.

"Kill him." Moriarty says simply and his burning eyes sear into his men each in turn and they squirm uncomfortably under his glare. "Besides, it'd be so much…_easier_ to deal with Sherlock with one hostage rather than two, don't you think?"

He turns his attention back to Lila and his hand grabs her by her throat and lifts her off the ground to pin her against the wall. She struggles wildly and kicks out at him but he ignores her futile struggles.

"It's not like either of them were getting out of here alive anyway." A slow playful smile creeps onto his face and his eyes light up as he continues ominously, "They were doomed from the start." Moriarty drops her unceremoniously on the ground and she gasps for her, her hand to her throat as she doubles over and coughs.

He turns and leaves.

His men follow without so much as a glance back to see if the child was alright. Hot tears run down her face as she imagines what will most certainly ensue: Acke will die. Moriarty will have his men put a bullet through the boy's head and all of their struggles would be for naught.

**…**

Acke runs quickly through the grass and his heart hammers hard in his chest. Tears stream down his face as he imagines the men running after him with guns blazing and his sister all alone in that cold basement. Large gasps of air slide in and out of his lungs as Acke forces himself to run faster. He had to get help—and soon!

In what seems to be like hours, he finally comes to a stop at a road and doubles over as he fights to calm his heart and force more air into his burning lungs. A cab wanders past and the driver slows when she sees the boy crying pitifully on the side of the road. She slows a little and thinks.

_Chances are, the kid had gotten lost trying to get home from a friend's house,_ she thinks as she pulls to a stop beside him. _I could call his parents and sit with him while they come to pick him up—or give him a ride if his home is close enough. Children shouldn't be alone out here at this time of night—it was dangerous._

"Oi! Are you alright, wee lad?" The Scottish cabbie asks after she rolls her window down and Acke begins to cry silent tears. "Now, don't go doing all that. Tell me—what seems to be the matter?" Acke begins to blubber on helplessly and the woman sighs as she waits for his words to form into something other than useless nonsense.

"We have to hurry! My sister in trouble!" he cries and another whirlwind of sobbing takes hold.

"What happened? Is she alright?" The cabbie instantly perks up and looks at him with concern as if just noticing how emancipated the small tyke looks and the fearful gleam that lights up his eyes as he keeps glancing behind him worriedly.

"We were kidnapped and she can't away! I have to hurry and get my dad! Can you help? Please, ma'am?"

"Get in." She cuts him off. "I'll take you home: where do you live, lad?"

"221B Baker Street." He gulps in a large breath of air and more tears fly down to wet his street. "Can you take me?"

"I'll do you one better, lad." She says in her thick Scottish accent as he hops into the back seat and buckles his seatbelt tightly. "I'll phone the Yard and your father and get you something to eat. What's your father's cell number?"

Acke tells her as she throws the vehicle into DRIVE.

**…**

Sherlock explodes outside the moment the cab pulls up and he drags Acke into his arms and buries his face into the boy's hair. Acke squirms and winces at the close proximity and physical contact but he doesn't complain. Sherlock then holds him by the shoulders and examines the boy carefully. John runs out and gasps when he sees him.

"Did they not feed you?" He exclaims. "It looks like you've lost at least seven pounds!"

"Lila is in trouble!" Acke jumps right to the chase.

The cabbie had called to tell Sherlock that Acke was with her, but she hadn't told them what had happened much to Acke's displeasure. But she had redeemed herself upon phoning the police and purchasing a hamburger and a small soda for the lad. Sherlock's already pale face goes paper white: he had expected her to be with Acke. Why wouldn't she go with him?

"We have to hurry! She's in trouble! They don't know that I had left! If she stays there…" His voice breaks and his eyes well up as he looks down as his bare feet: the kidnappers had stolen his black tennis shoes and socks. "She'll die," Acke finishes at an almost in audible tone.

"We're going to get her back." Sherlock promises before he picks Acke up and wraps the boy into his coat so that their combined body heat will work to warm the shivering child up. "Would you mind waiting? We will be requiring your services." Sherlock looks at the cabbie and she nods, her flaming red hair glinting dully in the silvery moonlight.

"Aye." She says in confirmation. "What is it we are waiting for?" She asks in her thick Scottish accent and her blue eyes shimmer angrily. _If his child was in danger why wasn't he going to help her?_ She thinks angrily._ Oi, father of the year right here_. "If the girl, 'Lila', is in a wee bit of trouble, shouldn't we leave now to get 'er back?"

"I phoned Scotland Yard after I got your call. They'll be here shortly." Sherlock says curtly.

**…**

"Do you remember the route?" Lestrade asks when they drive up and Acke nods fervently.

"I do!" The cabbie speaks up when Acke hesitates and Lestrade nods to her approvingly.

"Let's go! We got to get there right now before she gets hurt!" Acke shouts and Sherlock holds him closer.

"I agree," Sherlock says before anyone can object. "John, Acke, and I will ride on ahead in the cab: get your men to follow after us." The cabbie steps into her cab and wait patiently for everyone to get in. Her long white fingers drum absently on the wheel as she waits.

"And when we get there?"

"We get her back. I thought that was obvious." Sherlock rolls his eyes and slips into the front seat. He puts Acke on the seat next to him and John sits on Acke's other side, sandwiching the boy between them. The cab drives away.

**…**

"Hello, brother mine."

"What do you want, Mycroft? I'm busy," Sherlock growls and Acke glances up at him in surprise. Sherlock ruffles the boy's dirty dark brown hair and smiles tightly to reassure him. Acke looks back to the road and John hides a smile.

"I'm helping you in the retrieval of Ms. Lila. This is a delicate matter, Sherlock. Surely you weren't going to rely surely on the Scotland Yard?"

"You have a plan don't you? What is it?"

"It's simple really…"


End file.
